[ fucked if you do, fucked if you don't seems to be the creed that's always plagued marcus. forget the few bright memories he has of his mom or his dad telling him to go at life full speed - to embrace the freedom of the ocean, to rush every right light. surrender yourself to a school for assassins or live homeless in a shanty town. be beaten and cut by the guards at the boy's home or stick needles in your cheeks until you have enough to blow them up. devalue yourself and become a piece of meat or wind up in prison to be forcibly reprogrammed. marcus has one foot in hell and one foot in purgatory.

thinking about how long he has to put out that hit makes marcus feel sick, and he slowly retracts his hand from billy's pocket. he curls up his elbow and uses it as a pillow, sighing through his nose again. he wants to crawl inside billy's shirt, get all wrapped up where it's nice and safe. he wants to be in vegas again, his acid-stained brain slipping around in his skull like a fat guy in a bathtub. he'd rather be fucked up over something good than fucked up over something he doesn't understand. ]

Couple days.

[ marcus darts his tongue between his lips, curling up his knees like he's going to sleep. right when he's about to be relaxed, right when he's about to think about something else, billy distracts him, slapping the bracelet against his wrist and getting his attention. marcus opens his eyes again, the panic still bright in them underneath the bleary attempts to disconnect from himself. he looks up at billy, has this surreal moment where he sees the way his mohawk looks in this lighting with some minor sense of awe. ]

Did I ever tell you why I decided to come to King's in the first place? Like - the moment that really pulled me in.